


Merry Christmas

by Heylir



Category: Widdershins (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 17:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heylir/pseuds/Heylir
Summary: Christmas, 1833. How did the Malform Busters greet it?Indirect spoilers for "No Rest for the Wicked" and "Green-Eyed Monster".





	Merry Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Весёлое Рождество](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11816538) by [Heylir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heylir/pseuds/Heylir). 



> This translation was made by Thren, edited and authorized by the author.
> 
> The author was inspired by the last two paragraphs of this response of Kate's: <https://katedrawscomics.tumblr.com/post/115622946177/is-it-okay-if-i-ask-a-character-question-im>

    Returning from a trip to the shops, Ben entered the kitchen, where he found Wolfe and Mal. The first cooked, the other sat at the table, smoking. Ben silently swung open the window then began to unpack his purchases. Edibles went in the cabinet, a pack of tobacco was set in front of O'Malley — he grunted something that resembled "Thanks." After that was a box of chalk, a pack of blank paper and several postcards.  
    "An' what're those, there?" Mal asked. "Christmas cards? It's still a month out from Christmas, y'know."  
    "I like to do things in advance," Ben said stiffly, moving the cards out of O'Malley's reach.  
    "Yeah, not t' mention off-season they're cheaper, huh?" Mal chuckled.  
    Ben pretended not to hear.  
    "By the way, speaking of Christmas," Wolfe remarked, turning the ham in a skillet, "will we work on this day?"  
    Ben did not answer immediately.  
    "No, I suppose not. Only in a case of emergency."  
    "I thought perhaps we could make this a proper holiday? With gifts, and treats and such?"  
    "I don't mind," Ben shrugged. "But I don't have to tell you the state of our budget."  
    "Mal and I will invest, for this purpose," Wolfe promised.  
    "Well... alright then." Ben winced, turning his attention to his chalk-smeared fingers — the box had stained both his hands and the table. "Ugh, let me get this put away in the office so I can clean this up."

    "Happy holidays," Ben handed Wolfe a pile of soft-cover books, on which "The Adventures of Henry Barber" was printed in large letters. "It's a series of adventure stories, I really enjoyed them..." Ben caught himself and added, "...some time ago, when I was still a b... " he checked himself again. "T-that is to say, these are very interesting books."  
    Moving on to a lighter gift, Ben handed Mal a tobacco tin with a sailing ship painted on it, "This sort is better than I usually buy. I hope you like it."  
    "Let's try it, then," Mal said succinctly, opening the tin.  
    "Thank you," said Wolfe. "And this is for you, from the two of us." He handed Ben a wooden lacquered box with an inscription on top in a fanciful print reading "The Wizard's Kit." Ben took it and, as if not believing his eyes, threw back the lid. Nestled in various compartments of the box were wax sticks of various colours and sizes, holders for them, charcoal for drawing and paint with brushes. On the inside of the lid were pockets with samples and stencils of the primary details of the circles. There were pencils, erasers, a sponge for wiping chalk, rulers, paper for notes and other small things, too many to mention.  
    "You... you didn't have to..." Ben said in confusion.  
    "Course not," snorted Mal. "If we'd had to, would'a gotten somethin' a lot worse."  
    "Do you like it?" Wolfe interjected.  
    "Y-yes, I do... Thank you very much," Ben murmured, not quite recovering himself.  
    "Wonderful! Then let us go to the table," Wolfe invited.

    The festive dinner was drawing to a close when Wolfe brought out a sizable bowl of punch from the kitchen and with it a red hot poker.  
    "In my uncle's house for Christmas they made _Feuerzangenbowle_ , 'burning tongs'," he said. "They doused a sugar loaf with rum and set it on fire to drip into the wine. But it's quite slow and too lavish for us; we can simply do the poker."  
    The punch boiled, cooling the hot iron, and Wolfe hastened to pour it out in his glass.  
    "Ben, let me fill it for you," he invited.  
    "I don't drink," Ben refused. "I'll squeeze some lemon into the hot water."  
    "And you, Mal?"  
    "Eh... I'm gettin' tired an' my head's startin't pound. If ye don't mind, I think I'll turn in."  
    "Of course, go," said Wolf, a little concerned.  
    " ''S nothin' t'worry about," Mal quickly reassured him. "So you two have fun for me, yeah?" he threw over his shoulder, climbing the stairs. "Mebbe you can play Snap-Dragon or Blind Man's Bluff," he added sarcastically.  
    Wolfe watched Mal go, then turned to Ben.  
    "If you would also prefer to sleep, feel free to say so," he smiled.  
    Ben looked at the clock. It was more than an hour past his regular 10:30; his routine was already shot for the evening, so there seemed little harm in disrupting it a bit further.  
    "I don't, actually," Ben replied and put his glass before Wolfe. "Pour me one, would you?"  
    "But you do not drink?"  
    "I exaggerated a little," Ben admitted. "I drink, but only rarely and in a close circle. This... seems like the right occasion."  
    Wolfe poured him some punch and raised his glass, "Merry Christmas!"  
    "Merry Christmas!" Ben responded and drank to the bottom. "It was a long time since I really celebrated Christmas, with company and gifts. Let alone ones like this..." He ran his hand over the lid of the set, all this time lying next to him.  
    Wolfe filled the glasses again and casually remarked, "It was Mal's idea."  
    "Really?" Ben was surprised.  
    "Yes. Mal wanted to get you something that wizards use and that you do not have. He remembered that you do not like to get your hands dirty with chalk. Of course, he would not enter a wizard's shop, so I was the one to speak to the sellers."  
    "O'Malley, of all people..." Ben smiled unhappily, sipping his punch. He looked to Wolfe. "There were sets like that belonging to my... ah, never mind. I've been thinking of having one forever. I was told things like that were reserved for real wizards, that when I grew up, got a diploma... well. I grew up and got a diploma, but my set was still sitting on the store shelves." He put a half-empty glass on the table.  
    "Why did not you buy it for yourself?"  
    "It always seemed frivolous. A real wizard can draw a circle with chalk on a white floor, they say." Ben was silent for a moment. "Or I just never really thought I deserved it," he added softly.  
    "Ben!" Wolfe exclaimed in surprise. "You must not say that! It's just a thing, after all..."  
    "Just a thing, yes... and very expensive, actually," Ben said awkwardly, looking inquiringly at Wolfe and as if hesitating to finish his thought.  
    "Not so expensive," Wolfe smiled. "This whole holiday cost us four street concerts, and there's still some money left. Is that what you wanted to ask, my friend?"  
    Ben blushed slightly. "I thought as much ..." He sighed and finished his current glass. "You could have run into trouble, you know. That's illegal without a license."  
    "We were careful," Wolfe reassured him. "Mal kept ... what's the word? ... tout. But even if we were apprehended, we would have been released with only a fine, nothing more." He poured Ben another.  
    Ben's expression darkened.  
    "I can only imagine what Captain Barber would say if she found out that my employees need to... busk side because I can't pay them." His grip tightened on his glass as he took a sip. After a pause, he looked up at Wolfe. "Maybe I was wrong, to refuse her offer of employment?"  
    "I understand your feelings," Wolfe replied simply. "I understand why you chose this, right or wrong."  
    "Hardly you do," Ben said sceptically. "Good God, I'd been such an utter fool... all that time and I didn't even see... just because I didn't want to consider it possible." He emptied the glass.  
    "I understand your feelings," Wolfe repeated. "I too was once used by others for their own purposes — my commanding officer and one whom I considered my friend. And I, too, could not believe that this was possible. Even when I was warned that he hated me, I did not believe. Because I did not want to."  
    Ben looked at Wolfe with apprehension.  
    "And... how did it end?"  
    "It could have ended very badly, but Mal helped me. Since then, when he tells me his opinion about people, I listen to him," Wolfe smiled.  
    Ben thought about it.  
    "And why did your... false friend... hate you?" He asked in bewilderment.  
    Wolfe frowned slightly.  
    "I do not know," he said. "He told me that ...ah, I do not know, really. I think perhaps, he was just very unhappy." Wolfe finished his punch. "I do not want to think about that now."  
    "I'm sorry, I've ruined your mood."  
    "Not at all," said Wolfe. "At the end, everything turned out for the best, yes? If it were not for that man and this incident with Fairbairn, we would not be sitting here now, because we would never have met."  
    "That's true," Ben said, still subdued, rolling his empty glass between his palms.  
    Wolfe scooped another drink and poured it into their glasses. He picked up his own, winked at Ben and then suddenly sang:

Come fill, fill, my good fellow!  
Fill high, high, my good fellow,  
And let's be merry and mellow,  
And let us have one bottle more.

    Ben looked up in surprise. Wolf's voice was pleasant and resonant, though if you were being picky there were some trip-ups in the melody that probably had caused by the punch. But Ben didn't critique, he just listened, slowly sipping from his glass. Gradually the creases on his forehead smoothed, and the corners of his lips rose as if succumbing to the spirit of joy from which all such drinking songs are born.

When warm the heart is flowing,  
And bright the fancy glowing,  
Oh, shame on the dolt t'would be going,  
Nor tarry for one bottle more!

    Ben glanced sideways towards the first floor with irony. And Wolfe slowly began the words of the chorus, looking encouragingly at his friend, "Come fill, fill, my good fellow ..."  
    "Fill high, high, my good fellow," Ben's voice chimed in quietly — quite accurately, but timidly, as if it had never appeared in front of others before. Wolfe's strong baritone immediately rejoined and, hiding behind it, Ben's tenor grew bolder, so the last two lines came out more confidently:

And let's be merry and mellow,  
And let us have one bottle more!

    And Wolfe continued, cheerfully, carefree, his singing growing louder:

My Heart, let me but lighten,  
And Life, let me but brighten,  
And Care, let me but frighten.  
He'll fly us with one bottle more!  
By day, tho' he confound me,  
When friends at night have found me ...

    Suddenly Wolfe lowered his voice.

There is Paradise around me  
But let me have one bottle more!

    "Come fill, fill, my ..." Ben sang on, but, feeling the lack of support, he too fell silent. He looked at Wolfe and followed the direction of his gaze: Mal, barefoot and dishevelled, was standing on the steps of the staircase, looking as a silent reproach of conscience.  
    "Did I wake you?" Wolfe asked guiltily. "I'm so very sorry..." he said with contrition.  
    Mal shook his head and smiled.  
    "Y'know I like listenin' to yer violin 'n all," he remarked. "But singin's a bit different, 'specially in th' middle of the bloody night," he yawned.  
    "Oh, don't be such a killjoy, O'Malley!" Ben interrupted him. "You can't surpass me in that. Let people have a little fun."  
    Mal slowly turned his eyes to Ben, as if only now realizing that he, too, was sitting at the table. He glanced first at the space over Ben's head, then down to his face. It was unknown if he'd noticed the shine in Ben's eyes or the flush on his cheeks, but the collar button he'd undone was unlikely to be missed.  
    " _I saw a fishpond all on fire_ ," Mal murmured, and light of mischief came into his eyes.  
    "Okay, ye've convinced me," he announced. "I'll join in. After all, Christmas i'nt every day, is it?" He pulled a stool to his place and sat between Wolfe and Ben, with the attitude of a dedicated researcher observing some new and rare phenomenon of nature.  
    Wolfe threw a worried look at the pair of them. "Though I was only just thinking, is it not the time for us to go to sleep..?"  
    "Oh, take it easy, Wolfe," Ben finished off the remnants of his glass, "I'm not drunk and in control complete of the situation. I'm a full-fledged wizard, remember? We need our self-control no less than our hands. Here, I'll show you!" He rose to his feet, grabbed the brand new summoning kit, and began to clear a place on the floor.  
    This seemed to take Mal by surprise. "Hey, doin' a summons when yer that drunk's crazy, even I know that!"  
    "I'm not drunk, I'm hardly tipsy!" Ben countered, taking the chalk from the set and inserting it into the holder. "Here, we'll call ourselves a spirit of fun, for the festive mood." He began to draw a circle on the floor.  
    "Ye're drunk as a lord, the only spirit yer gettin' t'night's if y' nip another round from that punch bowl over there!"  
    "Want to bet?" Ben asked, methodically rounding out the outer circle. "If this works, you'll keep the office clean to my specifications for a week. Without Wolfe's help."  
    "Pfeh. Find yerself another galley slave," Mal said.  
    "Slacker," Ben said triumphantly, drawing the internal border.  
    Mal scowled at the space above Ben's head.  
    "...Fine. An' when ye botch it, y'can catch th' bugegrup yourself, without my help."  
    "Ha! I've worked excellently alone, that would be a piece of cake..." then Ben realized, "What bug... what malform? I haven't spoiled a single summon in my whole life! Called the wrong spirit, had them refuse my deal, yes, it happens with everyone, but malforms? I would never!.."  
    Wolfe had been sitting there all the while, covering his eyes with his palm, — since the moment when Ben grabbed the kit — but he didn't try to interfere. For some reason, it seemed to him that, really, this could have gone a lot worse.

    Wolfe, having finished fixing a broken window pane with a sheet of cardboard, looked worriedly out the window.  
    "I think I'll go look for him."  
    "Come off it, Wolfe, 'e's not a kid. No one was twistin' his arm. Not with makin' stupid bets, or with tellin' ye not t' help, neither. 'Sides, ye can make it's tracks out clear as day with th' snow, he'll manage."  
    There was loud kicking the door, and Wolfe rushed to open it. Ben was standing on the threshold, holding something invisible tightly with both hands and completely soaked from head to toe. Water dripped from his hair and went inside the collar of his coat.  
    "Donnerwetter!" exclaimed Wolfe, and rushed to the table.  
    "Mother of God," Mal said. "Did ye dive fer it or were y'drownin? How th' hell did y'even manage..?!"  
    Ben shook his head.  
    "I d-didn't go diving," he said, teeth chattering. "I st-tumbled over it and d-dumped out a vase of laurel by somebody's d-door. And t-then I got doused by s-someone pouring water from the upstairs window. But I caught it."  
    Wolfe, who had grabbed a towel, pulled out Ben's ponytail and began towelling his head in the meantime.  
    "Undress immediately, I'll rub you."  
    Ben shook his head again, interrupting the wiping process for a second.  
    "First, I need to d-desummon the malform. You should never p-put off desummonings. I've broken this rule once..."  
    "And now ye're goin' to remind yourself of it forever?!" Mal yelled suddenly and added more quietly, "Idiot."  
    "Y-you don't understand!"  
    "O' course, I don't, I'm nondegreed one," Mal turned his eyes from above Ben down to his hands and pulled the many-eyed and many-mouthed orange-coloured little cloud over to himself, "Gimme th' buggerup, ye're stranglin' 'im!"  
    Taken aback, Ben released his quarry. Wolfe immediately began to unbutton his coat and Ben didn't stop him, but he continued to insist, "T-this will only take a minute, the circle is already d-drawn ... Wolfe, please."  
    Wolfe pulled off the wet coat and threw it on the floor.  
    "Well, if it's only a minute... Mal, help Ben, please. And in the meantime, I will warm some water and find something for rubbing."  
    "How's 'e even s'posed t' read th' bloody spell with his teeth rattlin' out 'o his head like that?" Mal grumbled.  
    "I'll m-manage it," Ben decidedly went into the circle.  
    "Aye, ye've been doin' a bang up job of it so far," Mal muttered, but followed him, with the buggerup held tight.

    This time O'Malley's scepticism was unjustified; the procedure was successful. Ben managed to get the chattering under control, and the ice-cold drenching had done wonders to sober him up.  
    No sooner had the buggerup disappeared, then Wolfe emerged from the kitchen with a tub of hot water, another towel and a bottle of whiskey.  
    "Undress," he commanded.  
    Ben took off his waistcoat, reached for the buttons of his shirt, but suddenly stopped and glanced at O'Malley.  
    "Let us go upstairs," he said.  
    Mal snorted.  
    "Like I'd be lookin' anyways. But hey, what house was it doused ye like that?"  
    "I don't recall," Ben replied in confusion. "Why, does it matter?"  
    "Gonna wish those bastards a merry Christmas, aren't I?" Mal stepped into his shoes and took his coat from the door peg. "No matter, I'll find it."  
    And ignoring the cries of "Don't do that, it's my fault!" and "Mal, come back, do not act foolishly!", he darted out into the street.

    Finding the right house was easy, thanks to the overturned flowerpot and the wet snowless spot under the window.  
    Mal, for the sake of precaution, went around the corner before whistling softly. He squatted down and whispered something, pointing at the house. After a moment he straightened himself up, but remembered something and added a few more instructions.  
    "Off ye go, then!" he commanded the invisible companion.  
    A chain of footprints appeared on the snow, then Mal heard clattering and scraping claws, the rustling of slate... and the crash of falling furniture and a cacophony of scattered utensils, audible even through the closed window. Almost immediately, they were joined by screams.  
    Mal grinned, throwing his index and middle fingers up in an offensive gesture.  
    "Little somethin' from Santa fer the naughty kids!" he spat through his teeth.

    Contented Mal was not bothered even by the reproachful look with which Wolfe greeted his return.  
    "You should not have done this," he said.  
    A frown pulled down the corner of Mal's mouth.  
    "It coulda been some homeless bloke under that window fer all they knew. Like we was a few years ago. Coulda froze t'death on that street."  
    "Will revenge change anything?" Wolfe asked sadly.  
    "S'already changed my mood," sneered Mal. "How's Ben?"  
    "He got half a glass of whiskey from the outside, another glass inside, and fell asleep soundly. He did not have time to freeze, he should be fine."  
    "Yer, well. Some Merry Christmas this's been, huh?"  
    "Of those since we met, the best, do not you think?" Wolfe smiled.  
    "...I guess," Mal agreed reluctantly. "A roof over yer head, food on th' table, money in yer pocket, n'all that. Might even drink a glass o' stuff to it... if you two sots left any, that is."  
    "We saved some just for you," Wolfe assured.

    Mal went down the stairs, sleepy, still yawning. He looked over the traces of the past evening's festivities and saw Wolfe cleaning off the table. "An' where's Mr. "Early to bed and early to rise"? 'S he still depickling?"  
    "He is upstairs for now," said Wolfe. "Let him sleep in peace, do not bother him."  
    Mal scratched one bare foot with the other.  
    "D'ye reckon 'e caught a cold after th' other day?"  
    Wolfe turned away from the dirty dishes.  
    "Do you think?" He hesitated a little. "I shall try to check, carefully."

    "Ben!" Wolfe tapped softly on the door. "Ben, are you asleep?"  
    "I am!" there was an answer immediately, not at all sleepy. "I have fallen into winter hibernation, like a dormouse. Awake me when they'll decorate a Maypole."  
    Wolfe smiled involuntarily.  
    "Can I come in?"  
    "No!"  
    Wolfe was familiar with this particular "no", he'd heard it from Mal, more than once. More than dozens of times, really. It meant "I can not and I do not want to say _yes_ , but that's still what I mean." So Wolfe gently turned the doorknob.  
    Dressed in pyjamas, Ben sat on the bed, arms clasped around his knees and his head buried in them. His whole posture expressed a tragic hopelessness, a perfect model for sculpting the statue of it. Wolfe was torn between sympathy and a desire to laugh.  
    "How are you feeling, my friend?"  
    Ben turned his head, looking at Wolfe with round unhappy eyes. "Like a complete, utter, wretched and hopeless..."  
    "No, no, no," interrupted Wolfe. "How is your health? Head, throat? No fever?"  
    "Ah," Ben waved his hand languidly. "My head is a bit heavy, but everything else is fine."  
    "Are you sure?" Wolfe suspected that Ben would say "I'm fine", even standing with one foot in the grave. He walked closer to the bed and touched Ben's forehead with his wrist. "It is cool. Open your mouth, so I may see your tongue."  
    "I'm not O'Malley," Ben said sullenly, but obeyed.  
    "And thank the heavens," Wolfe said cheerfully, checking his throat. "Mal is one of a kind, as you and I are. And the fact that you are not Jack O'Malley, but Benjamin Thackerey, does not mean that your friends can not worry about you, right?"  
    Ben closed his mouth and looked at Wolfe in a strange way, "I've already caused you enough trouble. And really, I feel wonderful... health-wise."  
    "And it is very good!" said Wolfe happily. "Then let us go and have breakfast, there is still a lot of tasty things left. We shall eat, have a drink... of tea," he added after a brief pause.  
    Ben, unable to stop himself, laughed embarrassedly and hid his face in his lap, again.  
    Wolfe put a hand on Ben's shoulder and quietly sang, this time producing the melody flawlessly, "Come fill, fill, my good fellow! Fill high, high, my good fellow, And let's be merry and mellow..."  
    "And let us have NO bottle more!" Ben shook his head resolutely. His face was still slightly flashed, but composure was gradually returning. "Now do you understand why I rarely drink, and not with everyone?"  
    "I do," Wolfe smiled. "You hide your best side from everyone except true friends. Mal and I are flattered."  
    Ben chuckled briefly, and for a moment it seemed to Wolfe like hearing a lock click on a slammed door. Kicking the blanket aside, Ben dropped his legs to the floor and stood up.  
    "I must restore myself in a decent way," he declared, his dry, businesslike tone returned. "And put things in order about the house. It will take time, so have breakfast without me. You shouldn't starve through my fault."  
    "Nevermind, we will wait," Wolfe replied gently, but unyielding. "And I shall help with the cleaning."

    When they all finally had their very late breakfast Wolfe spoke enough for two, if only to keep the deviously grinning Mal from getting in a word. And Ben, with a proper, impenetrable expression on his face, looked only at his plate and pretended that he did not notice anything.

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Wolfe sang one can listen here: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u3Db_jARe2Q>


End file.
